


even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise

by a_splash_of_stucky



Series: By Morning Light [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Missions, Multi, Nightmares, Nipple appreciation, Porn With Plot, Vaginal Sex, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 07:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: Steve leaves for a mission and Bucky doesn’t handle it too well. It’s up to you to take care of him





	even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise

**Author's Note:**

> Steve doesn't technically feature in this part. Also, tw for _brief_ mention of suicide bombings. The nipple appreciation tag sounds weird, but it's nothing too kinky. 
> 
> but, moving on from that....
> 
> IT’S HERE!! After many, many long months, it’s here. I got my act together and made myself write this chapter and actually? It’s not what I thought it was gonna be, but I’m still happy with it. Enjoy!
> 
> I recognise that the general plot of this story is a bit like "some nights (i stay up)" and that parts of the description are similar to "Steve “Fight Me” Rogers"… but I swear I wasn’t trying to copy my own fics, haha.

Though you hate it when  _both_  Steve and Bucky have to go on a mission, life is a lot more miserable when only one of them has to leave.

When you’re left on your own, you only have yourself to manage. You’ve taught yourself how to cope with their absence — or, well. Perhaps more accurately, you’ve taught yourself how to get through each day. After being in a relationship with them for so long, you’ve developed a routine, and you know what you need to do to distract yourself from the matter at hand. Yes, it’s difficult, but at least you only have yourself to worry about.

If one of the boys is at home with you, your routine has a tendency to go belly-up.

Steve’s not so bad.

Being left with Steve is akin to being left alone with a very big, very mopey puppy. He follows you around everywhere, and needs to be touched constantly — though he’ll never admit it.

There’s a restlessness about him. He reminds you of a caged bird, aching to be freed. He’ll flit from room to room like a ghost that has lost its way.

When it comes to Steve, the best thing to do is to keep him busy. You take him out for walks (further lending support to the fact that he basically turns into a big puppy) and bring him to any and every exhibition that might be on. That’s how you ended up forking out sixty bucks each to visit a science exhibition about fungi, that one time.

Steve has a hard time sleeping when Bucky’s away, which means that you need to drive his body to the point of exhaustion before you can get him to shut his eyes for anything longer than a ten-minute power nap. You need to push his body to a stage where it physically cannot function without sleep. There are a number of ways of doing this, but you’ve found that marathon sex and super-intense workouts tend to be the most effective methods.

So, if anyone on the team is around, you hand Steve off to that person, with clear instructions for them to tire him out. If it’s Thor, he and Steve will engage in a game of lightning-frisbee that affects the weather across the whole of New York. Natasha will spar with him until she’s got bruises and minor cuts decorating her sides, whilst Sam will do laps with him around some park or other. Or rather, Steve does laps around a park, and Sam whizzes beside him on his motorised scooter.

With Bucky, your life gets a little bit more complicated.

Where Steve might be likened to a needy puppy, you would perhaps describe Bucky as a feral street cat.

The thing with Bucky is that he becomes more unpredictable. One minute, he could be crawling into your lap like a kitten who needs cuddles and attention, but the next minute, he could be holding you at knife point. You can never tell what he’s going to do next.

Life without Steve is mentally and emotionally draining, both for you and for Bucky.

He reverts back to the behaviour that he exhibited when he first started to break his HYDRA programming. Though you weren’t there during that period of his life, you’ve pieced together the details based on what Steve has told you and from the information that you’ve gleaned from reading Bucky’s files. The anxiety, the nightmares, the meek subservience; they all come rushing back at full force.

You’re not sure why Bucky does this. You think that maybe, it’s because he feels more secure whenever Steve is around. There’s always someone there to watch his back, so he feels comfortable enough to let his guard down. Without Steve, even the smallest thud can set him off; he’s on a hair-pin trigger, constantly on high-alert.

Besides the semi-hostile demeanour, he also gets fiercely protective of you. He’s always making sure that you stay well away from any sightlines and is constantly watching you from the shadows, protecting you from…who knows what. You indulge him in his requests, though it does get annoying when he insists that you use the bathroom with the door left slightly ajar.

Whereas Steve never wants to be left alone, Bucky never leaves you alone. He always ensures that you are within his field of vision, even if your attention is not necessarily on him. There’s an overstuffed armchair in the corner of your home office that Bucky likes to sit in when he’s exhibiting this abnormal behaviour. He watches over you like a solitary hawk.

Bucky can’t leave the house when he gets like this. For starters, it’s nearly impossible to coax him into coming out with you. More importantly, that fearsome protectiveness renders him a potential threat to the public. He sticks close to your side and bares his teeth at anyone who so much as looks at you funny. If anyone touches you, Bucky will let loose a threatening growl, like a guard dog. After one fateful incident which involved Bucky nearly decapitating a waiter at a restaurant, you’d made the executive decision to not let Bucky go out in public whenever Steve went away for a mission.

He doesn’t eat unless you tell him to. He will not rest until you order him to strip and get into bed. He becomes non-verbal, answering your questions with  — at most — two-word answers. It’s torture for you to see him like this, but you know that there’s nothing that you can do.

You don’t know  _why_ , exactly, he acts like this, but you think it has something to do with him feeling helpless.

Steve is perfectly capable of looking after himself — uh, most of the time, relatively speaking — when he’s away on missions, both of you know this. However, your theory is that there is some part of Bucky’s brain which believes that Steve is safest when Bucky is watching his six and therefore, if Bucky is not watching Steve’s six, Steve must be unsafe.

This time around, it’s Steve that’s gone.

Bucky is not handling his absence very well.

He left for Jakarta two days ago, and is due to return within the next three days. You’re not privy to the exact details of the mission, but you know that it has something to do with a string of recent suicide bombings in the area.

It’s been a rough couple of days for you both.

Today, you’d woken up with a metal hand wrapped around your throat, and things had gone downhill from there. The only real accomplishment you’ve had is that you managed to Bucky to eat some chicken and rice for dinner, which is basically the only proper meal he’s had the entire day. After dinner, you’d bundled him into bed and forced him cuddle with you.

You fall into a restless sleep sometime after ten. You’ve wrapped yourself around Bucky so that he can’t leave the bed. His back is pressed to your chest, your arm is slung over his torso and your cheek is resting on the back of his shoulder. He will never admit it, but he much prefers being the little spoon when he’s not having a great day.

Sometime during the night, your fitful sleep is broken by the sound of quiet whimpers.

You crack open one eye and squint at the world blearily, as your sleep-fogged brain struggles to make sense of the situation. It takes a second for reality to come into focus, but you soon register the fact that the body beside yours is trembling, violently enough for the vibrations to be felt across the entire mattress.

“No,” he’s saying, voice shaky and riddled with fear.  “Please— _please_ , no, not her, please not her.”

Concern floods your system. It breaks your heart to seem him like this. You swallow and swipe your tongue over your lips to get that unpleasant, cottony dryness out of your mouth as you push yourself into a sitting position. A harsh scrub of the back of your hand over your eyes gets rid of the lingering cobwebs of sleep that cling to your mind. Feeling more alert, you cautiously scoot closer to Bucky.

Waking Bucky up from a nightmare is always a bit of a risky endeavour — usually, you leave the job to Steve, as his body is more capable of handling whatever Bucky might do to him. On the few occasions that you’ve tried, you’ve usually ended up either on the floor, or pinned to the bed with Bucky looming over you.

You take a deep breath to summon your courage.

“Bucky?” you say tentatively, as you gently shake his shoulder. “Bucky — sweetie, c’mon, it’s just a dream. Wake up.”

“No,” he moans, “No, no —  _no,_  please, don’t—”

“Bucky it’s not real, honey, wake up—”

“No!” he shouts hoarsely, like he’s suffering the worst anguish imaginable. “Please, you can’t—not her,  _please_ not her—”

“Bucky,” you say, more firmly this time, “Sweetheart, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up!”

He jolts awake with a heaving gasp, sitting upright so suddenly that he unbalances you, sending you toppling over. You yelp in surprise, landing on the mattress with a muffled oof. The sound of his ragged breathing fills the room.

You scramble to your knees and reach out to comfort him, but stop yourself before you actually make contact with his skin — you don’t know how your touch would be received.

He is backlit by the moonlight streaming in through the windows and his hair forms a dark, shaggy mane that falls around his face. His torso is bare and sweat glimmers on the planes of his chest, making him look like some ethereal being.

“Bucky?” you say cautiously, “Can I hold you?”

He nods tersely. “Please,” he says gruffly.

You knee-walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck in a side-hug. Bucky, clearly not satisfied by that, grasps you by the waist and hoists you into his lap to hold you better. Before you can develop a cramp in your thigh, you arrange your limbs so that your ankles are crossed behind his back, and your arms are looped over his neck. You plaster yourself to his chest and press your foreheads together, giving him as many points of contact as possible.

“S’okay, Buck, I’m here — breathe with me, that’s it.”

With some encouragement, you manage to get Bucky to match your deep, even breaths. Slowly but surely, his raw, harsh pants slow down to something more controlled, less pained. With a final exhale, he slumps into you, tightening his grip around your waist as he presses his forehead to your shoulder.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, his warm breath tickling your skin. “I—I thought you were gone, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t get to you  _fast enough_ , and—”

You shush him, threading your fingers through his thick hair and pressing your fingertips into the base of his skull.

“I’m here,” you tell him, “I’m  _here_ , I’m right here, with you.”

Bucky presses his lips to your skin and all of a sudden, the air around you changes. It is as if the dust motes swirling around you have been charged with electricity.

He trails his lips over your skin, leaving hot, open-mouth kisses in a meandering path. They travel over your shoulder, past your collarbone, up your neck, over your jaw and finally, find their salvation against your lips. He kisses you fiercely, crushing your lips together like he is drowning man and you are the oxygen that will save him. Bucky clings to you like he’s afraid that he might be swept away by the dark, evil currents that swarm his mind, holding onto you like you’re his lifeline.

The situation is perhaps not the most conventional, but your body is nonetheless responding to Bucky’s touch. A rush of heat darts from your brain to your belly, settling into a pool of lust that is growing hotter by the minute. That same heat floods your cheeks and burns behind your chest. Your nipples tighten in anticipation underneath the thin fabric of your sleep shirt.

“I need you,” Bucky whispers brokenly, heatedly. His voice is like the whisper of a breeze, quiet enough that you have to strain your ears to hear it. “Please, please, I need you, I need—”

“Shh, I’m here,” you whisper, “Right here. You do what you need, sweetheart.”

In one smooth, seamless movement, Bucky flips you over so that you’re on your back. He hovers above you, a shadowy figure that dominates your senses. His long hair falls around you like a dark curtain, partitioning you from the rest of the world, cocooning you in this safe haven. Your legs are wrapped around his waist and slowly, your drag your calves up and down the back of his thigh, urging him to do as he pleases.

Bucky peppers hot kisses over your jaw and down your neck, pausing briefly to close his teeth over your pulse point. You gasp, throwing your head back and baring your throat. He rumbles appreciatively, worrying the skin of your neck between his teeth.

“You’re gonna leave a mark,” you say breathily, a hint of a laugh tinging your sentence.

“Good,” he replies, voice rough. “You’re mine.”

You swallow, touched by those two simple words. “Always,” you promise, squeezing his hips with your knees.

He growls possessively, which prompts you to press your hand over your mouth to stifle an irrational giggle. He sounds like a goddamn caveman. Your laughter morphs into a moan as he pulls aside the collar of your shirt and teases his lips over your collarbone, focusing on the spot that makes your curl.

“ _Bucky_ ,” you groan, biting your lip to hold back a whine.

His fingers are trailing up your sides  — one smooth and cool, the other callused and warm. He’s rucking up your sleep shirt as he goes, leaving the material bunched under your breasts as he slithers down your body. Bucky plants open-mouthed, reverent kisses over your belly, stopping to leave gentle nips wherever he pleases. His stubble scratches your skin, making you shiver in arousal.

“Off,” he says, flicking at the hem of your shirt impatiently.

Hastily, you pull the garment over your head, tossing it to some irrelevant place in the darkness. In an instant, Bucky’s fingers are cupping and squeezing your breasts, savouring the feel and weight of them in his palms. You gasp aloud when his thumbs brush over your stiffened nipples.

“Please,” you whisper, though you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for.

A cry of pleasure leaves your throat as Bucky’s lips close around your left nipple, engulfing it in sudden heat. A spike of want flares in your belly, making you shift your hips restlessly. Your fingers scrabble for purchase in the sheets as he flicks his tongue over your sensitive flesh. Bucky alternates between teasing the hard nub with his tongue and gently scraping over it with his teeth.

He releases your nipple from his lips and shifts to give the same treatment to the other one. The man likes his symmetry, so this doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Bucky switches back and forth between your breasts, taking care to give each one the same level of attention.

His touches eventually lose some of their frenzied intensity, mellowing down to something more lethargic, languid. Bucky allows his weight to settle more heavily on top of you, and rests his chin on your chest. When he takes your nipple between his lips, an expression of contentment settles over his features; you can practically feel the tension bleeding out of his muscles with every second that ticks past.

You leave him be. He’s behaved this way in the past, and if nursing on your breasts seems to bring him some element of comfort, who are you to deny him this small act? You card your fingers through his hair and gently massage his scalp, relishing the pleased moan that rumbles out of his chest.

Whether he realises it or not, the hard line of Bucky’s cock is pressing into your thigh. He’s grinding against you lazily, his movements so small that you don’t think he’s even aware of what he’s doing.

Carefully, so that you don’t accidentally dislodge his mouth, you reach between your bodies until your fingers come into contact with the waistband of his sweats. It’s a bit of a stretch, but you manage to push them down, halfway over his ass, low enough for your fingers to graze the top of his leaking dick.

Bucky jerks in surprise when you palm the head, releasing a shaky moan that is muffled against your skin. His breath skitters over your collarbone.

“Look at you, honey, being so good for me,” you croon softly, tucking a strand of hair over his ear. “You’re hard, Buck — you wanna take care of that? You wanna get inside me?”

He moans in affirmation. You smile benevolently as you continue to stroke his hair.

“C’mon then, get these off,” you say, snapping the elastic.

With great reluctance, he pulls his mouth off your breast to do as he’s been instructed. You take the opportunity to shimmy your shorts and panties down your legs. They too are discarded to some distant corner of the room.

Bucky crawls back on top of you, taking his weight on his forearms, which are planted on either side of your head. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and hook your legs over his waist, pulling him close. He bumps his nose against your chin, tipping your face upwards, so that he can capture your lips in an impassioned kiss.

You moan into his mouth when the head of his cock drags over your folds, sending tingles of arousal dancing through your system. Without breaking the kiss, you wiggle your hand between your bodies and grasp his cock, guiding it to your waiting entrance.

“ _Sweetheart_ ,” Bucky breathes, his lips brushing against yours.

“Inside, Barnes, c’mon,” you reply.

He slides his hips forward, sinking his cock into your warmth and wetness. You gasp as he penetrates you, arching your back reflexively. Bucky groans, dropping his head and resting his temple against your shoulder. Each of his breaths sends a gust of warm air blowing over your neck. He is still, giving you time to adjust.

When you feel like you’re ready, you urge him on with a word of encouragement and a nudge of your foot. Gradually, he works his entire length into your body, spearing you open in that most wondrous way. His cock is just perfect, filling that emptiness inside you right to the brim. There’s just enough of him for you to feel that pleasurable stretch, but not too much that you’re uncomfortable.

“You feel so good,” you whisper, as you trail your fingers up and down his spine.

Bucky hums, turning his head to mouth wetly at your collarbone. “You too,” he murmurs.

He captures your lips with his own as his hips begin to move in earnest. His movements are slow and unhurried, as neither of you are in a rush to find completion. He rests his weight on top of you, blanketing you with his body, a physical shield against the outside world. This feels right; chest to chest, hip to hip, not even a breath of air between you.

Bucky rocks into you slowly, using miniscule movements of his hips, barely pulling out before he’s sliding back into your core. Your lips find his in the darkness and he latches on, greedily swallowing your sounds of pleasure like they are his ambrosia.

You hook your legs over his waist and cross your ankles at the small of his back, pulling him closer. Though you dig your heels into the top of his ass to spur him on, he continues at the leisurely pace that he’s set.

No words are spoken into the quiet of the night, yet every movement speaks volumes in its own right. Every surge of his hips, every brush of his lips, every caress of his fingers — each touch professes his love for you. Bucky tells you how much he needs you without a single word passing his lips, and you do the same.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the moment. You focus on the roughness of his stubble against your neck, the warmth of his breath over your cheek, the drag of his chest over your nipples, the sparks of pleasure burning between your legs. His cock is brushing against all the sweet spots inside of you, the ones that make your head spin and your thighs tremble. The numerous, complex layers of pleasure sweep you away in their current; you feel like you’re weightless, floating on a cloud.

At some point, animal instincts start to take over. Love-making turns to passionate fucking, and Bucky’s rhythm quickens, his hips snapping forward more vigorously. He widens his knees and anchors them into the bed, giving himself more leverage to thrust. You cry out exultantly as your pleasure soars to new heights, fisting your hands in the sheets above your head.

Bucky slides his palms up your arms, until his hands find yours in the rumpled sheets. He laces your fingers together, pressing your hands into the mattress as he fucks into you.

“You’re so good,” he whispers, “So— _god_ , so good, I love you.”

“I love you too,” you gasp, “Fuck, Bucky —  _Bucky_.”

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart,” he grits out, as his hips drive forward again and again. Your mouth opens on a silent scream as he nails that spot relentlessly, the one that has you screwing your eyes shut so tightly, you’re seeing stars dancing behind your lips.

He’s saying your name under his breath like a prayer, oftentimes praising you and cursing you in the same breath.

“I love you,” he pants, “I love you — please, stay, don’t go—”

“M’not going anywhere,” you promise breathlessly, “I’m right here, Bucky. I love you so much.”

Your orgasm, when it comes, takes you by surprise. It washes over you like a crashing wave, unrelenting in its intensity. It is powerful enough to have you crying out in ecstasy. You dig your nails into the backs of Bucky’s hands as your back arches of its own accord. Your pulse is roaring in your ears and your lungs have seized up; you’re unable to catch your breath. Your climax seems to last forever.

When you come back to your senses, you realise that Bucky is still hard inside of you, still thrusting his cock into your warmth, though his movements are beginning to falter.

“So beautiful,” he praises, as he mouths at your throat. “So goddamn beautiful.”

You’re loose-limbed and pliant, satiated by your release. A pleasant buzz has settled into your bones, and there is a contented smile on your lips. Your limbs are heavy and uncoordinated, but you manage to hook your arms around Bucky’s shoulders and dig your heels into his back more insistently.

“C’mon, Buck,” you breathe, “Come inside me.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he swears.

“Mm, you like that? You wanna fill me up? Make me yours?”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky moans, cock driving into you with renewed urgency. “Baby —  _baby_ , oh, m’close, I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” you whisper.

There are many beautiful things in this world and among them is the sight of Bucky Barnes when he comes. He is quite the vision.

All the muscles in his body stiffen, save for those kiss-bitten lips, which go slack with pleasure. He thrusts into you one final time, burying his cock as deep inside you as physically possible. You shiver as his warmth spills into your channel, his cock spurting out hot, sticky ribbons of come. He is quiet, save for a single, bitten-back moan.

You roam your hands over his sweaty back, petting him gently as he rides out his climax. When it is over, he is careful to collapse half on you, and half on the bed, so that you’re not crushed under his weight. His softened, spent cock slips out of your pussy, and you whine in disapproval. You hate that feeling.

Blindly, Bucky fumbles around for his discarded sweats, and uses them to clumsily wipe his cock as well as the mess between your legs. He balls the soiled garment in his hand and tosses it onto the floor, to be dealt with in the morning.

The darkness has just started to give way to shades of pink and orange when Bucky rolls over onto his back and pulls you closer. A new dawn brings with it a fresh start and new challenges, but for now, you pillow your cheek on Bucky’s chest and let your heavy eyelids slide shut as sleep pulls you under.

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/177849000230/by-morning-light-iv/) this on tumblr!
> 
> Comments and kudos make me very happy :D


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